


Cold Feet

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Dynamics, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Friends to Lovers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Resolved Sexual Tension, Roommates, Sci-Ops AU, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: What’s one silly little fake engagement between best friends?





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsavolcano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/gifts).



> Happy holidays, itsavolcano! It's been lovely being your Secret Santa. I hope you enjoy this holiday trope-fest!
> 
> Big thanks to bigfunnywords and ardentaislinn for betaing!

“Agh, stop that; your feet are freezing,” Fitz protested, which only made Jemma wiggle her socked toes where she’d tucked them beneath his thigh and giggle. He huffed exaggeratedly and rested a hand across both of her ankles. “You’re really taking advantage of this arrangement, you know that?”

Jemma sat with her back against the arm of the couch, quite obviously taking up two cushions’ worth of space to his one. In spite of this, she crossed her arms in defiance. “What, the arrangement by which you choose the terrible movie we watch and I never, ever complain?”

Fitz barked a laugh, then tilted his head to look her in the eye, his thumb idly rubbing at the knob of one ankle. “‘Ugh, Fitz, not Terminator 3 again, that’s not even the good one, and besides, we watched it last month,’” he said, his voice pitched high with a passable English lilt.

“I do _not_ sound like that.”

“You do.”

“Wrong.”

“Right.”

“You know--” Before she could finish what was sure to be a scathing retort, her phone trilled on the counter. With a glare, she swung her legs off the couch and rose to answer it. “This isn’t over,” she mouthed to him as she answered the call.

Fitz took the opportunity to spread out a bit more on the couch, pulling down the throw blanket that rested on the back of it and tossing it over his legs, making sure to leave plenty of blanket for Jemma once she’d sat back down. He scrolled through the DVD menu as he waited, catching only snippets of Jemma’s end of the phone call.

“--no, of course I’d love to see her, but--”

“--short notice--”

“--yes, Mum, of _course_ \--”

“-- _tonight?!_ ”

Jemma’s shrill tone set Fitz on edge, and he peeked back over the couch at her. She stood in the kitchen with her phone pressed to one ear, the other hand balled in a nervous fist at her side. After a few more “yes, Mum”s, she hung up the phone but didn’t budge from her spot on the linoleum. Brow furrowing, Fitz hopped off the couch and hesitantly headed into the kitchen.

“Simmons? Everything okay?”

It took a moment for her to meet his eyes, and when she did, the smile on her face was a little unnerving.

“Oh, yes, of course. It’s fine. That was just my mum.”

“I caught onto that, yeah.”

“She was just calling to say hello.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And to make sure I got the package of Christmas gifts she sent.”

“Okay…”

“And to tell me that my busybody Aunt Mildred will be staying with me for the next few days. Starting tonight.”

“Alright-- hang on.” Fitz reached up to tug at his earlobe. “Your aunt is coming to stay with us?”

Jemma laughed, high and hollow, and averted her gaze. “Well, no, you see, she’s coming to stay with _me._ ”

Fitz took a step forward and ducked his head a bit, forcing her to look at him. “Simmons? What am I, chopped liver?”

“Chopped...oh, groceries! Oh, no, we don’t have nearly enough food for a guest. We weren’t even planning on a traditional Christmas dinner. I’ll have to pop out to the store in the morning, and--”

He reached out, his hands hovering just over her shoulders. “Simmons!”

At last, she looked at him and swallowed. “I… _may_ have misled my parents about our living situation,” she said. He raised an eyebrow, and she continued. “And by ‘our’ I mean ‘mine.’ Because they think I live alone.”

“Okay…” He drew the word out as he considered this fact. He’d met the Simmons’ on a number of occasions-- when they’d visited Jemma at the Academy; at their graduation a few years back; when he and Jemma had visited them in England last Christmas. They hadn’t been to the States, he realized, since he and Jemma had gotten an apartment together after signing onto the lab at SciOps. “Why?”

She sighed, retreating a few steps to lean back against the countertop. “They’re just so old-fashioned about things like that. They mean well-- and they do like you, Fitz, I promise they do-- but if they found out their daughter was cohabitating with a man out of wedlock--” She scrunched up her nose, and Fitz had to laugh at how outdated the term sounded.

“They’d be angry?”

“Worse-- disappointed. And disappointment in the Simmons household is far-reaching and long-lasting.”

Fitz frowned and nodded slowly. “So… can we get your aunt a hotel room?”

Jemma tapped at her chin and began to pace the kitchen. “Normally I’d say yes. But as tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, I’m afraid they’ll be booked solid. Plus, it doesn’t solve the core problem, as I doubt I could keep her away from the apartment for her _entire_ stay.”

“Don’t suppose we could tell her I’m a long lost cousin on your dad’s side?”

“Dad’s an only child.”

“Hence the ‘long-lost.’”

She waved off the idea, still pacing. “No, no.  Okay. Well, there’s only one solution.” She stopped, turned to him, and sighed. “Fitz, I’m sorry, but you have to move out. Now.”

Fitz chuckled again, but when she didn’t join in, he put both hands on his hips and squinted at her. “You’re serious.”

“I’m afraid so. And we’re on quite the deadline, so--” She grasped him by the shoulders and turned him around, nudging him out of the kitchen and toward his bedroom. “Time to get started! I’ll help you pack.”

He was at a loss for words as she guided him into his room, sat him down on the bed and threw open his closet. He watched her haul out his beat-up, oversized suitcase, then pull armloads of clothes off their hangers and stuff them neatly inside-- how she was able to fold everything so quickly, he’d never know. He gaped at her as she swiftly but methodically picked up trinkets and tools from atop his dresser and bookcase and placed them carefully in an empty cardboard box he’d been meaning to throw away. When she reached for a framed photo of the two of them, fresh-faced and smiling at their Academy graduation, he finally found his voice.

“Now hang on, Simmons. This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what else to do, Fitz! Perhaps you can stay with Milton; he only lives a few blocks over.”

“ _That_ cabbage-head? I most definitely can _not_.”  

She didn’t seem to hear him, and after nestling the frame gently in the box, she abandoned her efforts, her eyes darting wildly around the room. “Oh, you just have so much _stuff_! Why do you have so much stuff?”

“Because I live here!”

“That’s right,” Jemma muttered to herself, then turned to him. “You’ve got a presence _everywhere_ in this apartment. You stay here and handle your room; I’ll clear your things out of the living room and kitchen.” With that, she whirled around and fled. Bewildered, Fitz took in the chaos of his room, then dashed out to follow her.

“Simmons, are you out of your mind?” he called out.

“Maybe!” Her reply was muffled, and when he turned the corner into the living area, he spotted Jemma rummaging through the coat closet, her entire upper body engulfed by parkas. “Fitz, why do you even need so many winter coats?”

He gawked at her back, his hands flailing. “Because it’s _winter_?!”

“Never mind that,” she said, her voice clearer as she emerged from the forest of coats. “I can just pretend they’re coats that friends left over after parties and get-togethers.”

“We don’t have parties and get-togethers,” he deadpanned.

“ _We_ don’t, but if I lived alone, _I_ might,” she responded, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Here, put on your shoes. You’ll have to clear out of here before Aunt Mildred arrives. Maybe I can keep her occupied and we can sneak the rest of your junk out later.”

“Junk!”

“Hurry!” She tossed him his boots, and flummoxed as he was, he knelt down to put them on. Jemma turned to face him, frowning impatiently, as he shoved his foot into one boot and laced it up. “Ugh, Fitz, you always did take forever to leave the house.”

“To get kicked out of the house, you mean,” he grumbled. One boot securely fastened, he switched to the next one, lacing it with care. Jemma groaned at him, and he glared up at her from his spot on one knee as he tied a neat bow. “There. Happy now?” he asked, spreading his arms wide with a flourish.

“Yes!” Jemma shouted.

At the exact same moment, a voice from behind them sing-songed, “Too-de-loo!,” then gasped.

Still kneeling, Fitz’s head jerked up to see an older woman standing in the now-open doorway. She was perhaps their parents’ age, with short brown hair, Jemma’s nose, and a gobsmacked look on her face.

“Oh my goodness, Jemma-- did he just-- and you just said-- did you two just--?”

“Aunt Mildred!” Jemma waved her hands dismissively, shaking her head.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to have interrupted!” Mildred clutched her hands over her heart. “It’s just, I’d been knocking for quite some time, and the door was unlocked, and I just thought--”

“We must not have heard the knocking--”

“Never mind _that_ , dear. You’re _engaged_!” She set her bag down by the door and hurried toward Fitz. He felt rooted to his spot, down on one knee in the foyer of their apartment. “You must be…?” Mildred asked him, extending her hand.

“Um. Fitz. I’m Leopold Fitz.” His mouth still hung open as he shook her hand.

“Oh, _this_ is Fitz! I’ve heard so much about you, the genius fellow prodigy!” Mildred crowed. “Only, Greta didn’t tell me that you two were _dating_ ,” she said, looking pointedly at Jemma.

“Well, that’s because we’re actually--”

“ _Engaged_ , darling, I know.” Mildred winked. “It must feel _so_ good to be able to say that.” She gasped again, holding one finger aloft. “I know-- we simply must have a toast! I’ll just pop out and get us some champagne-- unless you already have some on hand?”

Wordlessly, Fitz and Jemma both shook their heads.

Mildred tutted, then sighed dreamily. “I understand. A spur of the moment proposal. So very romantic.” She spun around in the foyer and made for the door. “Don’t you worry-- I’ll be calling Greta to give her an earful! She never once mentioned that you two were _together_. The nerve of her. Be back in a jiff!” With that, she shut the door behind her and a heavy, blessed silence settled over the apartment.

For a moment, at least.

“What in the _world_ were you thinking, _Leopold_?”

Finally able to move, Fitz sprung up from his crouched position with indignance. “What was _I_ thinking? _You_ were the one who tried to _move me out of my own apartment under the cover of night_!”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic about it.” She stalked off toward the kitchen and he followed close behind. “I wasn’t the one who _got down on one knee_.”

“I was _putting on my shoes._ Shoes _you_ threw at me as you tried to _kick me out of my house_ , I might add.”

She moved to the stove and began the process of making tea. Silently, he joined in. They’d made tea together so often that Fitz sometimes thought they could do it in their sleep, moving fluidly in tandem like a well-oiled machine. Neither spoke for several long moments, and then Jemma sighed.

“Perhaps… perhaps I was a tad hasty--”

“A tad?!”

“Ugh, Fitz, would you let me apologize, please?” He nodded for her to continue. “I’m sorry I tried to kick you out of the apartment,” she said, eyes on the tea kettle.

“Apology accepted. Although I still think you went a little bit mad there.”

She glared at him, but then her expression softened and she let out a laugh. “I suppose I may have.”

“So…” he began. “What now?”

The tea was ready, and Jemma began to pour it, purposefully ignoring his question. He moved around her to add sugar to their mugs, then asked again. She took a long sip of her tea-- buying time, he suspected, as she typically preferred to let it cool to a reasonable temperature before drinking it, often chiding him for sipping too soon and burning his tongue.

“Simmons?”

When she looked up at him, there was an apology in her gaze. She bit her lip. “I suppose my parents wouldn’t be _as_ cross with me were I living with my _fiancé_ rather than some random man.”

“Random? Simmons--”

“And it would only be for a few days, just ‘til after Christmas.”

“Simmons.”

“And you’re _technically_ already packed-- we could move you into my bedroom and tell Mildred that yours is our guest room!”

Fitz swallowed hard, his mouth dry. When Jemma settled on a plan, it was nigh impossible to get her to stray from it. And it _would_ only be for a few days. And it was the only solution that didn’t involve him out on the streets, sleeping on a park bench in the dead of winter. Or worse: at Milton’s.

“Simmons,” he said again, his voice softer this time. She winced, waiting for his answer. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “We’ll have to see about getting you a ring.”

 

 

 

By the time Mildred returned with a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates, they’d made quick work of a plan. Jemma had unearthed a ring from her jewelry box-- a sapphire rather than a diamond, but she insisted it would do the trick-- and they’d dragged most of Fitz’s personal belongings from his room across the hall into hers. They’d hammered out a rough version of their romantic history together (“Fitz, honestly, it’s not that hard to remember-- it’s basically our actual life, just with more kissing!”), and Jemma had promised that if they pulled this off, she’d be on dishwashing duty for six months _and_ she’d keep her freezing feet away from him during movie nights.

They sat side by side on the couch, thighs just barely touching, with Mildred in the adjacent armchair as they toasted.

“To the happy couple,” Mildred began, raising her glass. “May you fall in love with each other anew each morning!”

Fitz raised his glass, but chuckled. “Does that mean we have to fall _out_ of love with each other each night?” Jemma elbowed him, and he hid a scowl behind his champagne flute.

“So, Mildred-- how long do you think you’ll be staying?” Jemma asked, taking a delicate sip.

Mildred sat back and smiled. “Oh, not long at all. I know you two lovebirds need ample _alone-time_ together.” Fitz narrowly avoided choking on his champagne as she continued. “I’m visiting friends in New York just after Christmas, so I’ll be out of your hair by Boxing Day.”

“Ah, so just three nights and two days, essentially. We can handle that,” said Jemma quickly, before schooling her face into an over-the-top frown. “I mean, we’ll be so sad to see you go! It’s always lovely to see family. I wish we could have traveled home for the holidays, but between our work schedules and the cost, it just wasn’t feasible.”

“That’s why Greta and Robert suggested I pop in during my visit to the U.S., of course! They hate to think of you being alone on Christmas.” Mildred took a sip of champagne. “Although, had they known you _wouldn’t_ be alone…” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“Alright!” Jemma drained her champagne glass and set it on the coffee table. She clasped her hands in her lap, then apparently thought better of it, and slapped her left hand clumsily onto Fitz’s thigh. He bit his tongue to keep from yelping in surprise. “Shall we get to bed?”

Mildred frowned. “It’s only half past nine.”

“Well, you know us… lovebirds,” Jemma said, fingers digging into Fitz’s leg. “We like to spend a lot of… quality time in the… bedroom.” Fitz’s eyes widened, but Mildred only laughed.

“Of course, dear! Just show me to my room and you won’t hear a peep from me until morning.”

They led Mildred to Fitz’s room, which, stripped of any personal possessions, did resemble a guest room. With one last wink and a knowing “goodnight,” she shut the door behind her, and they were alone.

Fitz puffed out his cheeks and let out a breath. When it became evident that Jemma wasn’t going to say anything, he did. “So… shall we?” He gestured toward her-- _their_ \-- bedroom, and she nodded mutely before leading the way across the hall, Fitz close behind her.

He looked around the room as she closed the door. He’d been in her room before, of course, plenty of times, but it was never a one-way trip. Everything looked slightly different than he remembered. And had it always been so dim?

As he’d taken in her room, Jemma had stood still just inside the door, her eyes fixed on a point in the distance. Fitz cleared his throat, and it broke her reverie, spurring her into action.

“Alright, let’s see,” she began, heaving open the suitcase they’d tucked between her dresser and the wall. “What do you need out of here to sleep in? T-shirt? Boxers?"

“I can get my bedclothes myself, thanks very much,” he said, and gently nudged her aside. She held up both hands and backed away, moving to perch at the foot of her bed.

“I’d suggest one of us sleep on the sofa, but I worry that Mildred might get up for a glass of water in the night or something. I suppose one of us could sleep on the floor in here, but what if she sleepwalks, or comes in thinking it’s the bathroom?”

“She’s got a bathroom attached to her room,” Fitz noted, pulling out a pair of boxer shorts and a well-worn Academy t-shirt.

“True.” Jemma didn’t sound convinced.

“Simmons, it’s fine. We can share a bed. It’s not like we haven’t fallen asleep in the same bed before, loads of times.” He dug out his toothbrush and carried his clothes into the en suite bathroom, leaving the door cracked so they could keep talking.

“Also true. We’ll just pretend we’re surrounded by study guides and textbooks. Those always put you to sleep.”

“Exactly,” he said around his toothbrush. Privately, he felt a twinge of nerves at the thought of sharing a bed with her, though he had no idea why. They’d fallen asleep together on the couch barely a week ago. This would be no different-- better, even, because he wouldn’t wake up with a crick in his neck. He spat toothpaste into the sink and blinked at himself in the mirror, then splashed cold water on his face for good measure before stepping back into the bedroom.

Jemma had changed into her own pajamas-- the same tank top and flannel pants combo he’d seen her in countless times, but suddenly that pinprick of nerves was back. She smiled softly.

“Done in there?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.”

With a nod, she slipped into the bathroom and Fitz stood awkwardly in the middle of her room. Would it be presumptuous to get into her bed before she did? Almost certainly, but he wasn’t sure what else to do, and it seemed like she was taking an awfully long time. Eventually, he compromised, sitting atop the covers on the side of the bed he knew wasn’t hers.

When she emerged, she had a funny look on her face and he worried he’d done the wrong thing. Perhaps he should sleep on the floor after all? But after a moment, she shook her head and smiled at him.

“Shall we get to bed?”

“All this scheming has me worn out,” Fitz joked feebly. She laughed as she pulled back the covers and climbed in, then gestured for him to do the same.

“It’s not _scheming_ , just… an undercover operation.” She flipped over onto her side to face him, her eyes alight. “Oh, Fitz, that’s precisely what it is! Just imagine we’re back in that Ops elective at the Academy!”

He grimaced. “I almost failed that class.”

Her smile faltered. “So did I--”

“Simmons, you made a B+.”

“--but we’re older now, and we’ve been with SHIELD for years. Surely it’s rubbed off on us a bit.” He shrugged, and she reached over to her bedside table to switch off the light.

In the darkness, Jemma’s room seemed even more foreign to Fitz. He pulled the covers up to his neck. They were both silent, lying side by side on their backs and breathing softly.

“What happens after Mildred leaves?” Fitz whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“She called your mum tonight, didn’t she? So, don’t your parents think we’re engaged?”

Jemma paused. “I suppose, yes.”

“You suppose?”

“I had six missed calls from my mum by the time we’d finished moving your things. I texted her that we were busy with Mildred and that I’d call her back. Later.”

“Ah,” Fitz said, stealing a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “So… is this a three-day undercover op, or…”

Jemma shifted beside him. “I’ll tell them we broke it off. That we decided we were better off friends. Or that Mildred had the wrong idea, or-- or-- something. It will be fine, Fitz.”  

Fitz hummed. He didn’t say anything else for several minutes, just listened to the tick of her alarm clock, the one they’d added biometric sensors to so it could identify the precise moment to wake her up for optimum REM sleep. He focused on the rhythmic ticking to avoid focusing on the faint floral scent of her pillowcase or the way he could feel the mattress dip next to him as it curved toward her. He wondered if her feet were cold.

Eventually, he whispered, “What if this is a bad idea?” but she was already snoring softly beside him.

 

 

 

When Fitz woke up the next morning, his first thought was to wonder why he was in Jemma’s bed. His next was to wonder why _Jemma_ wasn’t in Jemma’s bed. He sat up and yawned as details of the previous evening crept back into his foggy mind. After brushing his teeth and making a few unsuccessful attempts to tame his bedhead, he padded out into the apartment. He smelled bacon at the same time he heard Jemma’s voice.

“--not _that_ surprising, really. I suppose it’s been a long time coming.”

“Well of course it has to _you_ , Jemma,” Mildred’s voice chimed in. “To the rest of us, though… But then, when you know, you know. How _did_ you first know that Fitz was the one?”

Fitz paused, unsure if he wanted to hear Jemma utilize her meager undercover skills or rescue her from this line of questioning.

In the end, the tea kettle made the decision for him. Jemma leapt up from the couch as it whistled, and in the process, spotted him standing in the hallway. She smiled at him warmly.

“Fitz, you’re up! Just in time for tea and breakfast.”

“My two favorite things,” he said, following her into the kitchen.

“Besides our Jemma, of course,” Mildred added behind him. He grimaced, but then thought, _in for a penny…_

“Yes, my two favorite things _besides_ my little lovebug,” he said, reaching over to where Jemma stood at the stove to ruffle her hair. She reflexively ducked out from under his palm, but then remembered that they were supposed to be a newly-engaged couple, and a newly-engaged couple would probably be at least a little affectionate in the mornings. Switching gears, she sidled up to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

“I do so love your pet names for me, Sugarlips.”

Mildred opened the fridge to pull out the milk, and while her back was turned, Fitz mouthed, “Sugarlips?” down at Jemma incredulously. She just shrugged, and once Mildred was facing them again, Jemma pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before extricating herself from him entirely and turning her full attention to the tea kettle. He could feel his face growing red and hoped Mildred was too hungry to notice.

“So,” he started, voice sounding odd to his own ears. “Breakfast?”

 

 

 

Over breakfast, Mildred had peppered them with endless questions: how had they met; who had said I love you first; what were their plans for the future; were they going to get a dog? Fitz thought it was just short of a full interrogation. Fortunately, they’d only had to tweak a few details of the actual truth to satisfy her curiosity. One issue on which she would not relent, however, was a Christmas tree.

“I won’t hear of it,” she said as Fitz and Jemma tugged on their coats in the entryway. “Your mum would faint if she saw the state of this place so close to Christmas.”

“Aunt Mildred, I told you,” Jemma said, wrapping a scarf around her neck. “We don’t need anything ostentatious, and our apartment is small enough without cramming a gigantic evergreen into the living room. We’re fine with just stacking our gifts on the coffee table.”

“Nonsense. I am getting you a tree and we’re trimming it tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, after all!”

Jemma looked over at Fitz, and he just shrugged. They’d decided to skip the tree this year in favor of a low-key holiday (and less vacuuming), but if he was being honest, he’d missed it. The pine-scented candle they’d put in the entryway didn’t exactly do the trick.

At the tree lot, their choices were limited. Most of the remaining trees had some obvious defect-- a flat top, or a prominent bald spot-- and Mildred rejected them out of hand.

“What about this one?” Fitz asked, reaching through branches to pull a tree out by its trunk. He spun it around slowly for them to examine.

Mildred cocked her head to to the side. “It’s awfully sparse.”

Jemma gasped, though, and moved to run her fingers along the tree’s branches. “Fitz, do you know what it reminds me of?”

He grinned. It was why he’d picked this one up. “Weaver’s lab.”

“Yes! Our second year at the Academy, one of our professors set up a tree in her lab,” Jemma began, excited to fill Mildred in. As she spoke, she moved closer to Fitz and the tree, grasping the trunk to help him pull it up straight.

“Only since it’s a lab, you can’t have an actual tree--” Fitz continued.

“Exactly,” Jemma interjected, wrinkling her nose. “Can you imagine? A fire hazard, obviously, not to mention pine needles clogging up state-of-the-art equipment, sap destroying weeks and months worth of experiments…”

“So she set up one of those aluminum trees, with the metal branches, and it was even sparser than this one--”

“--and we spent half our free time--”

“--of which we had plenty, as we finished all our projects a solid month earlier than everyone else that semester--”

“--building ornaments for it out of old tech and spare parts.”

“It was one of my favorite Christmas trees ever,” Jemma finished, her voice wistful. Fitz smiled down at her, and when he adjusted his grip on the trunk, their fingers touched. Instead of moving her hand away, she just met his eyes and grinned.

“Well…” Mildred said, looking a bit baffled. “If that’s the one you want…”

Jemma nodded. “It’s definitely the one.”

“Then that settles it.” Mildred called over one of the tree lot’s employees, and they handed off the tree to him. As she went to pay, Fitz and Jemma wandered through the lot, past rows of picked-over trees and into the aisles of wreaths and decor.

“Do we need anything else?” Fitz asked.

“I don’t think so,” Jemma answered. “We still have the decorations we put up last year-- and now that I think about it, I might still have some of those Weaver ornaments tucked away somewhere.”

“You did love that tree.”

She looked up at him with fond exasperation. “And you didn’t? I seem to recall you sniffling a bit when she took it down come January.”

“Hey, that tree was full of tech that never reached its true potential. It was like a tech graveyard.”

“Mmhmm. Well, aren’t you glad some of it will be immortalized forever in ornament form?”

Before he could answer, Mildred called out to them. “All set, then?” They nodded and turned to head back to the front of the lot. “Wait! Stop!” she cried, and they froze in place, eyes wide. She just pointed up, though, and Fitz felt his stomach tighten before he even looked in the direction she indicated.

“Oh, look, Fitz,” Jemma said, her voice strained. “Mistletoe.” He flicked his gaze upward, then met her apprehensive eyes. “We don’t have to…” she murmured.

He looked over at Mildred, who stood several meters away watching them with eager anticipation, like she’d gotten front-row tickets to her favorite show. He bit his lip and stepped closer to Jemma. “Yeah, we do.”

“Is that okay?” She shuffled closer, one hand coming up to hook on the front pocket of his coat. He nodded as he brought his hand around to rest gently on her back.

“Of course.” Undercover operatives probably had to kiss lots of people, Fitz supposed; he was lucky this was his best friend and not some complete stranger. He dropped his head down a bit, stopping just short of her lips. Tilting her head upward, she met him halfway and pressed her mouth warmly, softly against his. The kiss was short and slow at once, foreign and familiar at the same time. Pulling away, he absently noted the faint taste of peppermint on his lips.

Jemma cleared her throat, and they stepped away from each other. He didn’t quite meet her eyes, but fortunately Mildred’s cooing and applause was sufficient distraction.

Once in the car, Jemma cranked up the holiday radio station until it was too loud to talk, and they listened to Christmas tunes all the way home.

 

 

 

Once the tree was set up in the living room, Mildred insisted on cooking for the two of them on Christmas day in exchange for their hospitality, so they made a list and sent Fitz to the store. Privately, he didn’t mind the respite from their ruse. It gave him time to think.

He wasn’t sure if it was expected or strange that they’d known each other for as many years as they had and had never kissed, not once, not until that day. Even as their classmates and colleagues had questioned their closeness, it had just never happened.

Leave it to Jemma’s meddlesome aunt to escalate things.

Still, as Fitz loaded his cart with potatoes for mashing, he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d minded it. In fact, he thought as he picked out an onion, he might have liked it.

He grimaced, staring down at the onion’s flaky skin. Scratch that.

He’d _definitely_ liked it.

This was going to make their undercover operation even more complicated.

 

 

 

“Fitz!” Jemma’s greeting was loud and overly enthusiastic when he stumbled through the door of the apartment, laden with grocery bags. “You’re here!”

“Hellooo, Fitz!” Mildred’s voice rang out from the living room.

He kicked the door shut behind him and made his way to the kitchen, letting the bags drop down onto the counter with a thud. The empty bottle by the sink confirmed what he’d suspected-- they’d gotten into the wine.

Jemma materialized in the doorway to the kitchen and smiled. She’d changed into comfy clothes, just sweatpants and-- hang on, was that the same worn-out Academy t-shirt he’d worn to bed? Before he could ask her, she spoke. “We couldn’t wait any longer so we started decorating. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Help me put all this away and I won’t,” he retorted. Together, they swiftly took care of the bags full of groceries, moving around each other as easily as they made tea. Once he’d tucked the last of it in the fridge, he turned to see her opening a fresh bottle of wine and pouring him a glass.

“For you, Sugarlips,” she said, handing the glass over. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly retreated to the living room. He took a long sip before following her.

“We were waiting for you before we put the ornaments on,” said Mildred, raising her wine glass to greet Fitz. “I’ll let you and Jemma do the honors.”

He set his glass on the coffee table and peered down into the box on the floor beside it. Inside were the ornaments he remembered-- gears, pieces of scrap metal, broken hard drives and microchips. Everything gleamed up at him, bringing back a flood of memories of him and Jemma working together on one of their first projects that was completely irrelevant to their grade. He knelt down beside the box and combed through it with gentle fingers.

“They’ll look great on our tree, don’t you think?” Jemma dropped to the floor, a touch gracelessly, and sat cross-legged beside him, looking quite pleased with herself.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked after a moment, and she took a sip of wine to hide her smile.

 

 

 

For the rest of the evening, they decorated the tree, drank wine, and shared stories-- Mildred had quite a few good ones of her own to tell-- before saying goodnight and retreating to their rooms. Since she was essentially already wearing pajamas, Jemma brushed her teeth and hopped straight into bed while Fitz changed clothes.

“Don’t you just adore our tree?” she asked when he re-entered the bedroom. She was snuggled up under the blankets, lying on her side facing him. “I’m so glad we ended up getting one.”

“I thought you said you wanted a low-key holiday, no fuss, no mess to clean up.” He rounded the bed to her side and switched off the light, then crossed back to get under the covers on his side.

“I know,” she said. He laid on his back, blinking up at the ceiling in the dark, but as she continued, he turned on his side to face her. “It’s much more practical. But that doesn’t mean I’m not pleased that we’ve a tree to put presents underneath now.”

Fitz tucked his hand under his pillow. “I like it, too.” His eyes had begun to adjust, and he could see her smile in the dim light.

“Mm. This is shaping up to be a lovely Christmas, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice sleepy. It looked like her eyes were closed, and he wondered if she was drifting off.

“Hey, Simmons?” he asked, not sure if he hoped she was already asleep or not.

“Mmhmm?”

“Have you called your mum back yet?” She didn’t say anything, which he took as answer enough. More softly, he asked, “Why do you care so much what they think?” He could feel her stiffen, just a bit, given how close they were on the bed. “I mean, to go to all this trouble. Do you really think they’d be that upset that we live together?”

“Sorry to have put you through so much _trouble_ ,” she whispered, a defensive edge to her voice.

“No, no,” he said, briefly reaching out to squeeze her elbow before retreating to his own side of the bed. “It’s not that. I just wonder why it matters to you so much that you’ll put yourself through all of this.”

She was silent for a long moment, and then shrugged, rustling the bedcovers as she did. “I suppose I always wanted them to approve of my choices. And I’m not quite sure they ever have, what with me living in the States, and never being able to tell them about what we’re working on, and all that.”

“Ah,” he said. “And… do _you_ approve of your choices? Living in the U.S…. working for SHIELD… living with me?”

She blinked at him, and he could just make out her brown eyes in the low light. Slowly, she nodded.

“Good. So do I.”

She chuckled, tucking her chin closer to her chest and stretching her legs so her toes brushed his shin.

“Oi! Those are like little ice buckets, you know!”

Jemma just giggled, but didn’t move her feet. Instead, she tucked them between his calves, and though he grumbled, sleep came much more quickly than it

 

 

 

When he awoke the next morning, that floral scent was stronger than he’d remembered, and he felt warm and secure and comfortable. He blinked a few times, then stiffened when he realized that the weight he felt on his chest was Jemma, fast asleep with her head nestled between his neck and his shoulder.

Her legs were tangled between his, and her palm lay flat on his chest, rising up and down as his breathing quickened. Her hair tickled his chin, but it didn’t bother him. He tried to stay as still as possible, unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing but unwilling to interrupt it.

Eventually, though, he felt a persistent tingling in his left arm, which was tucked underneath her, and had to shift around to wake it back up. Though he tried not to disturb her, she stirred, furrowing her brow and slowly opening her eyes.

“Mm… morning,” she murmured. He held his breath, but instead of recoiling like he’d feared, she seemed to snuggle even closer into his chest.

“Um. Good morning,” he said, his voice rough.

“Sleep well?” she asked. Her hand on his chest began to move, her fingers drifting up and down his sternum, and he felt his mouth go dry.

“Erm, yes,” he managed after swallowing. “Are you, um, ready to tackle Christmas day with Mildred?” he asked, somewhat surprised by his ability to construct a complete sentence.

“Christmas day with…oh.” Jemma withdrew her hand from his chest and cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.” After a moment, she sat up in bed and turned away from him, her legs swinging over the side. Fitz’s tentative gaze drifted from the straightness of her back up to her messy ponytail, several wispy tendrils curling along the nape of her neck. He felt compelled to reach out to her for some reason, but tucked his hands under the covers instead. “I’d forgotten she was here, actually.”

“Well… she is.”

She hummed in response, then sucked in a breath and twisted around to face him with a smile. “Well, then. Now I’m wondering… what’s for breakfast?”

He propped his head up on his hand, his elbow digging into the pillow as he looked up at her. “Are you asking?”

“Are you cooking?”

“If it’s cinnamon rolls from a can, then yes.”

She threw her head back as she laughed before standing and pulling her robe from the hook on the door. “I’m going to shower. Cinnamon rolls will be ready when I’m out?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder hopefully.

He nodded, and she grinned sleepily before slipping into the bathroom. At the snick of the door behind her, he flopped back against his pillow and tried unsuccessfully to banish the memory of Jemma’s nearness from his mind.

 

 

 

When Fitz made his way into the kitchen to start the cinnamon rolls, Mildred had already made herself at home.

“A proper Christmas lunch takes _time_ , you realize,” she’d said, but allowed him access to the oven, for breakfast’s sake.

When Jemma emerged from their-- _her_ \-- bedroom, barefoot in jeans and a festive red sweater, and made a beeline for the cinnamon rolls, Fitz slipped past her to grab a shower himself. He hoped standing under the scalding spray of the shower would clear his head.

Had he gone mad, he wondered, having agreed to this charade? Somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, he’d surely been aware that he had feelings for Jemma. He’d just pushed them away-- for the past several years. It wasn’t a big deal. They were friends, best friends, and that was more than enough.

But the past 48 hours had given him a whirlwind tour of how things might have been. And in another 24, everything in their lives would be back to normal. He’d be back to sleeping alone in his own bed, and neither of them would have to pretend to be in love anymore.

As the shower grew cold, Fitz was struck with the realization that he hadn’t really been pretending all along.

 

 

 

Mildred insisted that Christmas lunch came before Christmas presents-- “it’s tradition in the Simmons household!” So at noon on the dot, they sat down at the dining room table that Jemma had managed to make more festive with a couple of votive candles and a centerpiece consisting of a few leftover ornaments from Weaver’s tree.

“I do believe this looks delicious,” Mildred remarked as she sat down at the head of the table. Fitz chuckled and placed his napkin in his lap.

“I should hope so,” he said. “You made it.” Jemma kicked him lightly beneath the table, her chilly foot jostling his bare ankle, and he managed a smirk.

“It looks lovely, Mildred. Thank you for cooking for us.”

Mildred tutted. “I wouldn’t hear of you two eating microwave dinners or whatever you had planned on Christmas day.”

“Hey, we make do!” Jemma said, slightly defensive. “I’ve become quite the cook, in fact, ever since we got our own apartment with a full-sized kitchen.”

“It’s true,” Fitz chimed in as he took a bite of roasted potatoes. “She’s been forcing nutritious meals on me for ages now.”

Jemma’s answering grin was smug. “And how often do you go back for seconds?” Fitz just chuckled and shrugged, and Mildred cooed.

“Oh, I always did think you’d make a wonderful wife someday,” she said. At that, Jemma scrunched up her nose, and Fitz brought a hand up to his mouth to hide his smile.

“Now, hang on. Just because Fitz’s idea of cooking is ordering takeaway and I value a well-balanced meal, that doesn’t mean I’ll be the little wife, slaving away over the stove until my husband comes home.” She set her fork down, eyes flashing and a slight flush on her cheeks. Fitz wasn’t sure if it was the way she always looked when she was passionate about something, or how she glanced at him as she said the word “husband,” but regardless, he couldn’t help the way his stomach clenched.  

“We’ll be splitting up the household duties quite equitably,” she continued, “as we have been all along.”

Mildred held up both hands in surrender. “Of course, dear. You’ll both make wonderful, equitable _spouses_. Is that better?”

Jemma nodded, picking her fork back up. “Indeed.”

For a few moments, they focused on eating, and then Mildred spoke again. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask-- have you picked a wedding date?”

Fitz coughed, choking on his bite of roll, but Jemma managed to keep her wits about her to respond. “Next April 28th.”

“A venue?”

“The event space at the local natural history museum.”

“A color scheme?”

“Coral, copper and peach.”

Fitz watched the exchange with wide eyes, and was mildly relieved when Mildred excused herself to refill their water glasses. Once he was sure she was out of earshot, he leaned across the table to whisper, “How’d you make all that up so quickly?”

Jemma waved a hand dismissively. “Please. I got up early yesterday morning and sketched out all the details of our imaginary wedding. I have flashcards in my purse if you’d like to go over them later, but I figured I’d be the one getting asked those questions, not you.” She rolled her eyes. “Archaic gender roles and all that.”

“Is there really an event space at the museum?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, Fitz, it’s quite lovely. You enter the hall underneath one of the fossilized dinosaur skeletons, and a balcony overlooks some of the exhibits, and the way they’re lit up at night is so beautiful. I thought it would be just perfect for…” She faltered, her gaze drifting to the kitchen door. “Mildred, do you need any help?”

“No, dear, I’ll be right there! I just got a phone call.”

Fitz watched Jemma, but her eyes were on her plate as she pushed food around it. He wanted to tell her that it did sound lovely, but his mouth felt dry, and Mildred hadn’t brought back the water pitcher. At last she returned, an apologetic look on her face.

“Annabelle, the friend I’d planned to visit tomorrow-- well, she just called,” Mildred said. “Apparently they’re expecting some nasty weather overnight, and she suggested that I get on the road sooner rather than later, just to be safe.”

“Oh.” Jemma frowned. “I’d hate for you to get stranded.”

“I told her that normally I wouldn’t dare leave in the middle of Christmas, but under the circumstances, you two might enjoy some time alone,” she explained, her voice lilting upwards at the end of the sentence. Fitz wished she’d brought that water, or maybe something stronger. “Is that alright?”

“Of course, Mildred! Safety first,” Jemma said, and Fitz nodded his agreement.

“Oh, good,” Mildred said, relieved. She sat back down at the table and smiled. “Let’s finish eating, and then we can open presents before I’m back on the road.” Digging into her food, she gave Jemma a sly smile. “Although I suppose Fitz already gave you the most romantic present of all.” She looked pointedly at Jemma’s sapphire ring.

Jemma giggled nervously and flexed the fingers of her left hand. “What could be more romantic?"

 

 

 

Once the lunch leftovers were nestled neatly in the fridge and the dishes put away, it was time for gifts. Fortunately, Jemma had had the presence of mind to ask Fitz to pick something up for Mildred while he’d grocery shopped for Christmas lunch, and her aunt sighed happily as she unwrapped the peony-print scarf.

“This is beautiful. Thank you, the both of you.” Mildred folded the scarf and placed it back in the gift bag, then handed Jemma a wrapped box. “I’m afraid I didn’t know Fitz would be here, so I only brought a gift for you, Jemma.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he interjected from his seat beside Jemma on the sofa.

“Although…” Mildred began, as Jemma tore the paper off the box and opened it up to find a sleek leather-bound scrapbook.

Jemma gasped as she opened it to reveal page after page of family photos, baby pictures, and other mementos of her life back in the UK. “Mildred, this is incredible.”

Mildred reached over and flipped through the pages to show that several at the back of the book were blank. “Plenty of room for photos of the two of you… and any future additional family members,” she added, winking. It was Jemma’s turn to choke on nothing, and Fitz reached out to rub her back even as his cheeks burned red.

“Nevermind that,” said Jemma once she’d recovered. She stretched down to pluck a box from beneath the tree and handed it to Fitz, a shy smile on her face. “This is for you.”

He ran his thumb over the red and gold paper before tearing into it, revealing a rubberized black case. He pulled it open and gawked at what was inside. “Is this…?

Jemma grinned proudly. “Mmhmm.”

“The Stark Multitool 7000-Series Deluxe Model X?” He reverently pulled out the slim piece of metal. Its size belied the 150-some-odd functions and features it boasted, including a monkey wrench, five kinds of screwdrivers, and a blowtorch. He’d been eyeing it since before it had been released, and knew it had sold out instantly. “Simmons, you’re amazing.”

“Turn it over,” she said, nudging him where her knee touched his thigh. He did as he was told, and ran the tip of his finger over the metal where it was engraved: “LJF” When he looked back up at her, he knew he was grinning like an idiot. “I can’t wait to see what you build with it,” she said, her gaze soft, and he suddenly knew what it meant to lose oneself in someone’s eyes.

“Well isn’t that just lovely,” Mildred said, breaking the spell. “I’m not entirely sure what that little thing is, but I’m glad to see you two know each other so well!”

Fitz tore his eyes away to smile at Mildred. “At least, Jemma certainly knows me well.”

Jemma blinked at him for a moment before shaking her head, then reached down to collect the last remaining present from underneath the tree. “I take it this one’s for me?”

He nodded, suddenly a bit nervous. He’d wrapped her gift ages ago, as soon as he’d finished making it, and hadn’t given it much thought since. Now he worried she might not like it.

She tidily removed the paper to reveal a small, polished wooden box. She flipped it open, and her hand flew to her lips as she peered inside.

“Fitz,” she breathed. He watched her fingers as she pulled out the necklace, a delicate rose charm hanging from a thin chain, then let his gaze flick up to her face. She looked stricken, staring down at the necklace, and the knot in his stomach grew.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his mouth dry.

It took her a moment to speak. “Like it? Fitz, it’s magnificent!” Her cheeks looked flushed, and she held it out to him with a question in her eyes. Wordlessly, he took the necklace from her, setting the box down on the coffee table. She scooted closer and turned away, allowing him to drape it around her neck and carefully fasten the clasp.

“That is quite beautiful, Fitz,” Mildred said, leaning forward in her chair to get a better look. “What designer is that?”

“Um,” he said, scratching at the side of his neck. “Me?”

Jemma whirled around to look at him. “You made this?”

“Yeah, I, ah… had some metal leftover from a project, and-- yeah.” Her eyes bore into his, and he didn’t know what to think. He watched as she toyed with the rose pendant with one careful hand, her chest rising and falling, rising and falling. Then in one swift motion, she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers, her hand resting on his chest. The kiss was brief-- he was taken by surprise, and didn’t even have time to close his eyes-- and when she pulled back, just barely, she left her hand over his heart.

“I love it,” she whispered.

Sighing out a shaky breath, he licked his lips and leaned forward slightly, unable to focus on anything but her lips-- and that’s when Mildred’s cell phone rang. Jemma’s hand dropped to her lap, and Fitz sat back on the couch, trying to catch his breath and suss out what the hell had just happened.

After a brief phone call, Mildred returned to the living room. “That was Annabelle. The weather forecast has worsened, so I’m afraid I’ll need to leave right away to make it in time.”

“You know you’re welcome to stay,” Jemma said, standing to hug her aunt.

“No, no, let me get out of your hair. I’m not afraid of a little snow.” Mildred kissed Jemma on the cheek. “Besides,” she whispered, but not so quietly that Fitz couldn’t hear it. “I see the way you two are looking at each other. Far be it for me to keep true lovers apart.”

“Mildred,” Jemma admonished as she pulled away. Fitz just watched from the couch, at a loss for words for the millionth time in three days.

“Do call your mother,” Mildred said as she gathered her bags and wrapped her new scarf around her neck. “She told me you keep texting her that you’ll call her later, later, later, but you know she’s _dying_ to hear the story of your engagement for herself.”

Jemma looked down at the ground. “I know.”

With another hug for Jemma and one for Fitz, Mildred wished them a merry Christmas and a goodnight, and then just as suddenly as she’d arrived, she was gone.

 

 

 

“So,” Fitz said as he shut the door behind her. “That was… something.”

Jemma laughed, not quite meeting his eyes. “It was, wasn’t it?” She idly played with the ring on her finger, but, Fitz noticed, didn’t take it off. “So. What do you suppose we do now?”

Fitz shrugged. “Well. What were we planning to do on Christmas, anyway?”

“Holiday movies and the Doctor Who Christmas special?” She looked hopeful, almost relieved that things were finally back to normal, and Fitz didn’t know how that made him feel. He nodded anyway.

“I’ll make popcorn.”

“Fitz, we _just_ ate.”

“What? You can’t watch movies without popcorn and you know it.”

Minutes later, they were clad in pajamas in their usual positions on the couch-- Jemma leaning against one arm of it with her legs outstretched, though she hesitated before tucking her feet under his leg. He sighed, and gestured for her to go ahead.

“What kind of fiancé would I be if I let your feet freeze?” He wanted to bite back the words as soon as  they left his mouth, and he felt her feet stiffen briefly beneath him before she relaxed again.

“I suppose I can take this off now,” she said after a moment. She carefully slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the coffee table. He watched it glint in the glow from the tree lights.

“Suppose you can.”

When she didn’t say anything else, he pressed play on the remote, and they watched the first movie in silence. By the beginning of the second, most of the tension had melted away and by the time Doctor Who had begun, it was easy for Fitz to pretend that everything had gone back to normal.

“That was one of their better ones, don’t you think?” Jemma asked as the credits rolled on the episode. She’d slumped down further on the couch, and he rested one arm across the tops of her bent knees.

“Mmhmm.” He yawned as he agreed. The pressure of the past few days had caught up with him-- and by the look of Jemma’s answering yawn, it had caught up with her, too. “Sleepy?”

“Maybe.” When another yawn made her nose scrunch up, she sighed. “Or definitely. It’s an early bedtime for me, I think.”

He nodded, squeezing one of her knees before standing up and extending a hand to help her up. “For me too,” he said as she took his hand. He didn’t want to let go once she stood, but he did anyway; he couldn’t very well just go on holding her hand, could he? He felt unsure of what the rules were now.

“It’s a good tree,” Jemma said fondly, unplugging the tree’s twinkly lights as he switched off the TV.

“It really is.” Once the room had gone dark, she shuffled toward the hallway that led to their rooms, Fitz close behind her. When they reached her bedroom, he instinctively turned to follow her into it before he remembered and stopped short in the doorway. She turned to face him, blinking curiously up at him in the dim light.

“I guess I can move back into my own room now,” he said, reaching up a hand to rub at his jaw. His heart was pounding and he wasn’t sure why. Jemma didn’t say anything, just looked at him, eyes dark and expression inscrutable, and after a long moment, he nodded and turned to head for his own bedroom. But before he took a step, one of her hands flew out to grasp his own.

“Don’t,” she whispered softly.

He turned back to face her, sucking in a shaky breath. “Okay.” Jemma let go of his hand and moved hers to cup his cheek, gently pulling his face down to hers. “I won’t,” he said, just before his lips brushed against hers.

His hands moved to glide over her hips, and one palm skimmed up the side of her waist, up her ribs and around to rest lightly between her shoulder blades as their breath mingled, their mouths just barely touching. They stayed like that for a long moment, their labored breathing the only sound in the room, until Jemma whispered, “Fitz,” and it was like a dam broke.

Their mouths met in a searing kiss, and he grasped at the back of her shirt as he walked them backwards into her bedroom. She moaned against him, both hands sliding along the sides of his jaw, her fingertips tickling just below his ears. When the backs of her knees hit the bed, she bounced back onto it and pulled him down with her.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against her lips. She scooted back on the bed without breaking their kiss, running her hands up and down his chest as he crouched over her.

“More than,” she pulled back far enough to say, before stretching around to nip at his earlobe. He yelped, and she giggled.

Fitz propped himself up with one arm, taking stock of her: the way her hair fanned out across the pillow, the way she bit her lip, the playful glint in her eye. He almost couldn’t believe this was happening, but as she pulled him down into a kiss, eagerly licking into his mouth, it felt more real than anything he’d ever experienced.

He tried to keep most of his weight off her as they kissed, careful not to crush her or try to take too much too soon. But he couldn’t help himself when she slipped her hand up the back of his shirt and lightly scraped her nails down his back. He molded his body to hers, their hips slotting easily together, and he groaned at the friction of his growing hardness against her warmth.

“God, Fitz.” Her voice was breathy and sent fire through his veins. She tilted one leg out to the side, bringing her foot around to the back of his calf and pushing her hips up against him, and he couldn’t contain a whimper. If she kept that up, he was going to lose all semblance of control.

He propped himself up again, this time sliding his lips along the edge of her jaw. “Christ, Jemma,” he whispered against her skin, pressing kisses down the long column of her neck. “What are you doing to me?”

“What am I doing to you?” she asked, her voice breaking as his lips landed on her collarbone. “What are you doing to _me_? This feels like so much more than…”

Fitz pulled back to look at her, his brows knitted together. “More than…”

Jemma met his eyes and bit her lip, almost shy. “Um. More than I imagined.”

Swallowing, Fitz stroked his fingers lightly against the soft skin of her ribs. “You-- you imagined this?”

She took a breath, then let it out with a nod. “A few times, here and there, over the years… and an awful lot, in the last 48 hours.”

He laughed, letting his forehead drop to rest against her shoulder and pressing a kiss against her arm. “I might have imagined it a few times, myself.” She chuckled low in her throat, and he felt a jolt of arousal at the sound.

“Fitz?”

“Yeah?” He looked up at her, watched her mouth curl into a seductive smile. He filed the image away; he never wanted to forget it as long as he lived.

“Shall we see how reality compares to our imaginations?”

With a grin, he surged forward to kiss her again, and she responded eagerly, her fingers threading up into his hair. With a shiver, he pulled away, her lips chasing his, and he resumed his oral exploration of her neck and shoulders, kissing his way down along the V-neck of her shirt. He relished in the feeling of soft skin at the tops of her breasts, and pressed a soft kiss along her sternum just between them.

Jemma huffed. “You _do_ know that comes off, don’t you?”

“I’m taking my time,” he said, his voice muffled by her skin.

“Haven’t we waited long enough?”

His gaze flicked up to meet hers and found her expression soft, wistful but not impatient. He spared a moment to wonder at the time they’d spent fending off colleagues and friends who thought they were together, time that they could have spent _being_ together-- time that they could have spent doing _this_. With one last kiss to her breastbone, he reached for the hem of her top, pulling it up and over her head.

“Much better,” she said as he drank in the sight of her, all purple lace and pale, freckled skin. He kissed one freckle, then another, then another, as his hand came up to cup the side of one breast, his thumb dipping just inside her bra to tease at her nipple. She sighed, arching up into his touch, and he rolled it between two fingers before dipping down to suck it into his mouth. She made a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan and all he wanted was to hear that sound again and again and again.

He traced one hand along to the clasp of her bra, fumbling with it until it came loose. Jemma arched up to pull the straps off her shoulders and flung it across the room herself, and he mouthed at her other nipple, cupping his palm over the breast he’d just left behind. She let her head fall back against the pillow with a sigh, then reached down to tug at his own shirt. He gave her nipple one last lick before reluctantly pulling back to yank the offending garment over his head. It quickly joined her bra on the floor.

While he was doing that, she’d somehow managed to push her pajama bottoms down far enough to kick them off, and he was suddenly confronted with the sight of Jemma Simmons in only a pair of lace panties. They matched her bra, and he briefly wondered if she’d planned this. And then she spread her legs just a tad, just enough for him to see where the fabric was darkened and damp, and any rational thought he might have had was gone.

One hand stroking at her breast, he kissed her stomach, mouthing wetly at her heated skin as he headed downward. She made an impatient sound, though, and grasped at his hair to tilt his head up to look at her.

“Remember what I said about waiting?”

“But--”

She rolled her eyes. “There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow.” His mind flashed to a vision of him spending the entirety of Boxing Day with his face between her legs, and armed with that thought, he pushed himself up until they were face to face. “Take off your pants,” she demanded, eyes dark and half-closed, and he wasn’t about to not follow her directions.

As soon as he’d pushed them off his ankles, she pulled him into a heated kiss, her hips arching up to meet his. With only the thin fabric of their underwear between them, he could hardly hold back a moan as he ground his cock against her center. The feel of her breasts grazing against his bare chest was driving him mad-- _everything_ about her was driving him mad.

“Do you have a...“ he mumbled into her mouth.

“Wha-- oh! Yes,” she answered, rolling her upper body to the side without moving her hips from his. In fact, the movement pressed her even tighter against him, and he began doing calculations in his head, just to be safe. She pulled open the top drawer of her bedside chest and fumbled for a moment before producing a condom. “Always best to be prepared!”

He chuckled, dazed, and took the condom from her, setting it down on the bed beside them. He was still laying on top of her, their hips slotted tightly together, and it was all he could do to keep from grinding against her, but he forced himself to hold still. He had to make sure they were on the same page, because if they weren’t and they did… _this_ , he wasn’t sure there could be any going back.

“Jemma…”

“Fitz,” she breathed.

“Is this-- um. This isn’t just…” He didn’t know quite how to finish his sentence, how to put into words how he felt. How to tell her that she was _it_ for him, and while he’d only just realized it, he somehow knew it had always been true. He cleared his throat.

“This isn’t _just_ anything,” she said softly. She drew her hand around to cup his cheek, then guided him down into a kiss so familiar it felt like home. Then, pulling back imperceptibly and tightening her thighs around his hips, she whispered, “I want you so much,” and he surged against her mouth, kissing her like he never wanted to stop. He grasped at the sides of her panties and pushed them down without breaking away from her lips, and she reached down to help him remove them entirely before her clever fingers flew to the waistband of his boxer briefs. He dipped two fingers just inside her, groaning when they were met with silky wetness. But before he could do much exploration, Jemma had pushed his underwear down and wrapped one hand firmly around his cock.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, letting his head fall to her shoulder. She gave a gentle tug, and swiped her thumb across the head. In turn, Fitz growled. He snatched the condom from the bed beside them and tore it open with his teeth. She grinned and giggled beneath him, letting her hand slip down to cup his balls, and his eyes rolled back in his head before he stilled her hand with his own, then rolled the condom on. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. Please.”

With a wild chuckle-- how was she so polite and proper, even while naked and writhing beneath him?-- he nodded, then leaned down to kiss her. He angled himself against her as his tongue slipped into her mouth, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, tilted his hips and pushed inside. She felt incredible.

“Fitz,” she said, her voice almost a moan, and he began to move.

He set a slow, steady rhythm, sliding a hand up to toy with one breast, her nipple stiff against his palm. As he slicked in and out of her, he focused on the sound of her breath, the heat of her skin, how everything felt right. She hitched one leg higher on his thigh, and the new angle made him moan into the crook of her neck.

“More,” she said, her breath tickling his ear, and he sped up his movements, thrusting up into her harder. The keening noise she made indicated that he’d done well, and it emboldened him. He pushed up on one arm, keeping their rhythm, and reached down to rub at her clit as he pulsed in and out of her. The sight was mesmerizing, and he filed that one away for later, too. She arched her back at his touch, one of her hands coming up to squeeze her nipple. “Yes, Fitz, more.”

He felt his thrusts becoming erratic as his release wound tighter and tighter inside him, but he tried to keep the movements of his fingers steady against her, powered by the breathy moans that kept falling from her mouth. On a particularly long moan, he felt her tighten around his cock, one of her hands grasping at his bicep as she came. It only took a few more deep, frenetic thrusts before he was biting against her shoulder and shuddering with his own release, before easing himself down beside her in a daze.

After a long moment of catching his breath, he pressed a kiss over her heart and staggered to the bathroom to clean himself up and dispose of the condom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hair askew and cheeks flushed, and wondered why he didn’t look different. He felt different.

When he slipped back into Jemma’s bedroom, she’d gotten under the covers but left one side folded down for him. A smile tugged at his lips as he slid beneath the sheets.

“So that was…” he trailed off.

“Yeah.”

He sucked in a breath. “Better than my imagination, I’d say.”

Jemma laughed, tucking one hand underneath her pillow. “I’d say so as well. By a country mile.”

“Jemma, I--” he started to say, and she blinked at him with sleepy brown eyes. He suddenly wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. He certainly hadn’t scripted it out, and didn’t she deserve the perfect words, the precise confession? He didn’t want to muck it up by saying something ridiculous. Instead, he reached out and curled his hand around her waist, nudging her closer to him. She rested her head against his chest and her palm over his heart. “Goodnight, Jemma,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to her hair.

“Mm, ‘night, Fitz,” she said, and it wasn’t long before her even breathing indicated she’d fallen asleep. He stayed up fretting for a few more minutes, but his nerves were no match for her warm body against his or her soft breath tickling his chest, lulling him into pleasant dreams.

 

 

 

When Fitz stirred awake the next morning, he felt warm and content, and it took a few moments before he pieced together why. Then he realized that it was Jemma’s body curled up against him keeping him warm (and her hair in his mouth, he observed, as he sputtered it out), and his smile grew as memories of the previous night crept into his mind.

His muscles felt pleasingly sore, and he entertained ideas of re-enacting said memories once Jemma woke up. Assuming she’d want to, of course.

His smile faltered. He knew what the previous night had meant to him, but they’d fallen asleep before they could do much talking. What if she had regrets? What if she hadn’t enjoyed herself? What if she didn’t want to do that again-- or see him again, for that matter? He felt a knot forming in his stomach, unsure if he wanted to wake her up and ask for clarification, or let her sleep and remain in the liminal space where everything he wanted was still within his grasp.

In the end, she decided for him. First she stretched her legs, her knees brushing against his, then nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. Finally, she blinked awake, and he held his breath.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her hand slipping across his waist to hold him close to her. “Why didn’t we do that sooner?”

His eyes widened. “You mean-- last night?”

Jemma chuckled. “Obviously.” Suddenly, he felt lighter, and the knot in his stomach began to untie. She tipped her chin up to rest on his shoulder, eyeing him. “Was it-- it wasn’t weird, was it? For you?”

Fitz furrowed his brow. “No,” he said, drawing out the word. “Maybe weird that it _wasn’t_ weird.”

She laughed, tucking her head back down to rest against his arm. “I’d worried it might be. But it wasn’t at all.”

“No, it wasn’t.” His chest was tightening, and this time it wasn’t because he wondered how she felt-- it was because he needed to tell her how _he_ felt.

“In fact, it was--”

“I’m in love with you,” he said, all in one breath. He pressed his mouth together in a thin line and waited, his hand stilling where it had been stroking up and down along her waist.

She fell silent, then dropped a soft kiss against his chest before tilting her head up to meet his eyes. “I love you, too,” she breathed, and before she could say anything else, he pulled her up into a soulful kiss.

They kissed for what felt like hours, with occasional whispers of “I love you” against each other’s skin, but after awhile, Fitz couldn’t help the rumble that emanated from his stomach.

“I forgot, _some_ one hasn’t eaten in more than four hours,” Jemma said, rolling her eyes, but her expression was still so fond he nearly had to look away.

“I can’t help that it’s breakfast time,” he said, kissing her softly. “How about I go make breakfast, and then you call your mum and dad?”

Jemma frowned. “Is that--?”

“--really necessary? Yeah, I’d say so,” he responded. “Clear the air, and then we can… do other things.” The enticing look she gave him almost made him want to stay in bed all day, but he forced himself to get up, pulling on his boxer briefs and shuffling for the door.

She sat up with an exaggerated pout. “Fine. Breakfast, a phone call, and then we don’t leave this bed for an entire day.”

Fitz had never made breakfast so fast.

 

 

 

"Mum? It’s Jemma. No, I know, I’m sorry I haven’t called.” He took her free hand and brought it up so he could kiss her knuckles, and she spared him a smile. “About that… no, Fitz and I aren’t actually engaged. Yes, I know-- Mum, I know. We’re not engaged; that was a bit of a misunderstanding, but we _have_ been living together for a couple of years now, and I’m sorry if that makes you--” She frowned. “Wait, what? You mean you’re not mad?”

“She’s not mad?” Fitz whispered.

Jemma cupped her hand over the phone and whispered back, “She says she’s happy to hear that I’m living with such a great _friend_.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well…” He looked down at his hand where it rested on her thigh, and she bit back a laugh, a shade of pink blooming high on cheeks that made Fitz’s stomach flip in a way that was familiar and new all at once.

“Actually, Mum… about that…”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to hang out on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


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